Birthday Blues
by livjo33
Summary: After reuniting after Stanford, Sam is determined to give Dean a good birthday. But will Dean let Sam give him a good one?
1. Chapter 1

AN: Constructive criticism is appreciated. All mistakes are my own. I have no clue if Johnsonville, Wisconsin is a real place.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.

 **Birthday Blues**

(Sam's POV) Dean's birthday. It was one day where everything should have been about his older brother. Cake, presents, a nice dinner, the works. However, throughout the years, the day had been pushed aside in light of greater things. Hunting had always been the priority of Dean's life, besides Sam, and that included his birthday.

When Sam was younger, about six through ten, he had usually at least tried to acknowledge the passing of his older brother's birthday. Even if it was just a quick hug or a dumb little handwritten note, Sam remembered. As Sam got older, though, Dean's birthday faded into the background for him as well. Years spent of arguing with his dad and planning his escape had taken precedence over wishing Dean a happy birthday. And then came college. Sam left, severed the ties from his family and went to find his normal. Although the brothers had some contact in the first two years of his absence, there was never a call made to say hello to his brother on his birthday, or even to ensure he was still alive.

But now, the brothers had reunited and were on the road again. Dean's birthday was a day away and Sam was determined to make up for the last twelve skipped birthdays.

"Hey, Dean," Sam spoke for the first time in the last three hours. "Let's stop here for today." He nodded at the exit sign that stated the next town was three miles away.

Dean gave him an odd look. "Why? Our next hunt is a hundred miles away, but we can still make it by tonight."

Sam shrugged, "Just tired I guess."

Dean's expression quickly changed to one of concern. "You alright? You aren't sick, right?"

Of course, Dean's first thought was of his younger brother. Already Dean had put on the left turn signal to get off at the Johnsonville exit. Sam sighed. The fact that his birthday was tomorrow probably hadn't even crossed Dean's mind. If it was Sam's birthday, however, Dean would have already had something planned for weeks. Getting Dean to think about himself first was a bigger task than trying to bottle wind in a jar.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam barely resisted an eye roll. "I'm just tired of being on the road."

Dean continued looking at Sam with a critical eye. The Impala was rolling down the road that would lead into town, so even if Dean had decided Sam was fine, it was a little too late to turn back now. "Alright," he replied.

They continued driving when they hit Main Street, looking for a place to call it a night at. Johnsonville, Wisconsin was a fairly small town. A few shops lined Main Street, mostly small boutiques and family-owned establishments. These coupled with the wreaths hanging from lamp posts and the light snow that was falling really gave the town a 1950s kind of feel.

On the outskirts of town, they finally found a place to stay. The WayFarers Inn was by no means spectacular, but it was also nicer than a lot of places they had stayed in before.

Dean pulled the car in front of the main office and cut the engine. He left the keys in the ignition, opened his door, and stepped out into the cold. He tossed the words "I'm gonna check us in" over his shoulder. The driver's door shut with a heavy click.

Sam sank into the seat as thoughts turned over in his mind. What could he do for Dean? He knew for certain his older brother wouldn't appreciate anything "chick-flicky", but there surely had to be something Dean would enjoy.

Before his thoughts could go much further, the door was opened again and bitter cold air rushed into the car. Dean settled down heavily and quickly pulled the door shut behind him, blowing hot air on his fingers. "Damn, it's freaking freezing out there."

Raising an eyebrow, Sam looked at Dean. "It's January in Wisconsin."

Dean stopped blowing on his fingers and reached out to turn the car on again. He rolled the car down in front of room seven, the one farthest from the office as usual. He then turned over to Sam to glare at him. "I know what month it is and which state we're in. I was just saying that it doesn't have to be so offensively cold after Christmas." With that, Dean once again got out of the car and walked around back to grab the duffels out of the trunk. Sam smirked at his older brother's answer and followed him out into the winter night.

As soon as Sam stepped out of the car and shut the door, something heavy hit him in the chest. The weight of the object caused him to stumble back, slipping on the icy ground. Sam's arms flung wildly, trying to regain his balance. Desperately, he reached out to grab onto the roof of the Impala. He clung there for several seconds, waiting for his equilibrium to return, then turned to identify what had hit him.

Laying innocently on the ground next to him was his duffel bag. This quickly registered in his mind, and he turned to his older brother. He was completely ready to yell at Dean, all thoughts of birthdays temporarily pushed from his mind. However, when he saw Dean, he couldn't help but smile.

Dean was folded nearly in half over the trunk. Loud laughter ripped from his body, causing his breaths to be taken in huge gasps. His face was red and tears ran down his cheeks. He seemed to collect himself for a moment and looked at Sam. However, seeing Sam still clinging to the Impala set him off again.

Sam stood just watching his older brother. It was rare to catch Dean in a completely unguarded moment. Dean had become an adult at age four, the constant guardian of his younger brother. Since Dean always felt the need to protect Sam, it was difficult to find the real Dean Winchester behind the façade. It was moments like these Sam treasured, the times when he got a glimpse of what Dean could have been like if he had gotten the chance to be a normal person.

A few minutes later, Dean finally managed to pull himself together. He wiped the tears from his face, straightened himself out, and closed the trunk. Then, he walked over to Sam and clapped a hand on his shoulder that threatened to send him skidding again. It forced him to retighten his grip on the Impala. Dean opened his mouth as though to say something, but instead stooped to pick up Sam's duffel. He then turned towards the motel, the slight shaking of his shoulders the only evidence that Dean was still laughing.

Sam took a few seconds to assure himself that he was steady, then he released his grip on the Impala. Carefully, with small steps, Sam followed Dean into the motel. The last thing he wanted was to end up face first in the snow and give Dean something else to mock him with.

A blast of warm air engulfed Sam as he walked into the room. He shivered as he felt the heat reenter his body.

"Hey!" Dean shouted from his bed. "Close the door! You're letting all the heat out!"

Quickly, Sam stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Even if the WayFarers Inn didn't look like much, it obviously had a fantastic heater. Probably a wise decision for a motel that stayed open in Wisconsin during January.

Dean already had the TV turned on, flipped to some football game Sam didn't know about. It was amazing how quickly the brothers settled into their routine. Check into some small motel, farthest room from the office, Dean on the bed next to the door, TV buzzing in the background, easy banter that never touched on anything too painful. Everything functioned like a well-oiled machine, never skipping a beat.

Usually, this was the time were Sam would settle himself on the end of his bed, or at a table if there was one, and research a hunt. However, this time Sam had other things on his mind. "Do you want me to go get supper?"

Dean looked up. "We just got here. And I thought you were tired of being in the car?" Neither brother moved for several moments, Dean trying to figure out Sam and Sam praying Dean would just let him go. Finally, Dean sighed and tossed the keys at his brother. Sam caught them with a relieved smile. "Don't bring me home any of your rabbit food," he warned.

Sam simply nodded and was back outside before Dean could say anything else.

AN: So this is the first chapter of my new story. I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know if you think it's worth continuing! Also, if you have any idea for what Sam should do for Dean or what he should get him let me know please!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thanks for anyone who followed, favorited, or reviewed on the first chapter of this story!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.

 **Birthday Blues**

(Dean's POV) The door closed behind his brother with a click. He slumped in the bed with another sigh as his hand came up to pull through his hair roughly. Sometimes Sam was impossible to understand. First, he wanted to pull off the road for the night and the next moment he was asking to go out for food. Dean's head was practically spinning from the quick turnaround.

At least, with Sam acting so oddly, he hadn't seemed to notice something wrong with his older brother. It was always hard for Dean to maintain his façade this time of year. Christmas and his birthday falling so close together often hit as a cruel double-whammy. As a kid, Dean had always made an effort to make Christmas special for Sam, at a minimum making sure the passing was recognized.

However, for the two older Winchesters, Christmas was a depressing affair. Memories of Mary clung to every aspect of the holiday. It never failed to put John in a sour mood, sometimes driving him to the bottom of a bottle.

When Sam went to college, Dean had pushed himself even harder around the holidays. He got involved in hunt, after hunt, after hunt, barely pausing for a breath in between. This reckless approach had led to several new scars and a few birthdays spent on a hard bed in a white hospital room.

After four years of this, it was difficult to break that habit. If Sam had noticed an increase of hunts when the Christmas decorations came out, he never said anything. Maybe he was even grateful for the distraction to keep his mind away from his dead girlfriend.

That's why it made such little sense that Sam had asked to stop tonight. Both brothers had agreed on heading to northern Wisconsin to investigate what sounded like a possible wendigo hunt. Sam had appeared as ready to go as his older brother earlier that day. With only 100 miles to go and it only being 8 PM, there would have been plenty of time to find a motel near their hunt and on the hunt first thing in the morning.

It had been the perfect set up. He and his younger brother would spend the entire day hiking through some god-forsaken woods chasing evil. The long walk and the thrill of the hunt would have distracted him from thoughts of birthdays past where his mother would make cake and his father would sing. Since they stopped, though, this would be impossible.

Resigning himself to a long day in the car pretending to be fine, Dean got up and gathered his things for the shower.

'Well at least I'll get hot water,' he thought. He grinned as he imagined Sam coming back to water as cold as the weather outside. 'Happy birthday to me.'

AN: I'm sorry this chapter was so much shorter than the last one. This just seemed like a good place to stop for this one. Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks for everyone who read this story or added it to their list of stories they follow!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.

 **Birthday Blues**

(Sam's POV) It had only taken him fifteen minutes to collect dinner from the restaurant a few miles down the road. However, Sam had to still find a gift to give his older brother tomorrow. Sam knew that Dean wouldn't expect a gift, in fact, if Sam did find something to give Dean his older brother would probably be shocked. Sam felt a deep ache when he thought of the times Dean had spent his birthday alone. At Stanford, Sam hadn't felt nearly as bad about missing the day because he had assumed Dean would be with their father. It wasn't until after Dean had brought him back that he discovered the fact Dean was hunting alone and was faced with the reality that Dean probably had spent more than one birthday by himself.

Hunting with his brother had once again become an easy routine. They shared an almost effortless camaraderie that allowed them to communicate things without speaking, and Sam was grateful for this. This allowed him to think about Jessica freely without having to worry about communicating his pain to his older brother. However, it also was sometimes a burden. It made it extremely difficult to get Dean to open up if he was hurting. Sam wasn't stupid. He had immediately recognized the increased frequency of their hunts lately. Dean had focused on these hunts with a startling one-track-mind mentality, sometimes seeming to forget that Sam was even there. The fact that this habit had probably developed over the course of his time at Stanford drove a sharp pain deep into Sam's gut, but it didn't bother him as much as what the extra hunts were doing to his brother.

It was easy for Sam to see that his brother was exhausted. To a stranger, Dean would appear as he always did. Confident, calm, dangerous. However, Sam wasn't so easily fooled. The slight slump of his shoulders was his first clue, along with the dulling of his brother's usually vibrant green eyes. It was alarming to say the least. These facts added together were almost enough for Sam to say something to his brother, maybe suggest slowing down on the hunting, but the increased hunting seemed to keep Dean's mind off the sadness that surrounded Christmas and his birthday, so Sam kept quiet.

Sam had driven down several streets now for ten minutes. If he wasn't home soon, Dean would get concerned and the cavalry would hit the streets, and Sam really didn't want that. But he was also determined to find something for Dean's birthday. The Impala rolled past another shop, but this one made Sam press on the breaks. He read the sign once more, and he felt a small smile spread across his face. 'Perfect,' he thought and got out of the car.

"Finally," Dean's voice came from his bed as Sam walked into the room. "I almost got concerned."

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's dismissive statement. Knowing his brother, Dean had started pacing after twenty minutes had passed and had only stopped when the Impala had pulled in, giving himself just enough time to arrange himself nonchalantly on the bed before Sam walked in.

"Sorry," Sam muttered. "There was a line." He put the paper bags filled with food on the small table in the room. Dean pushed himself up from the bed with a grunt and sauntered over to the table. He picked up one of the bags and opened it. His brow wrinkled with confusion.

"Uh, Sam?"

Sam looked up, pulled from his deep thoughts. "Yeah?"

Dean lifted the bag he was holding. "There are two hamburgers in here."

Sam nodded. "I figured you'd be hungry after all that driving."

Pulling the bag open again for another look, Dean's face was still painted by confusion. "I thought you said that eating more than one of these at a time would give me a heart attack or something?"

Sam just shrugged and grabbed the bag with his chicken sandwich in it. He walked over to his bed and pulled out his food. Before he dug in, though, he snuck a glance at Dean. His brother was pulling out both burgers, unwrapping one, and biting into it with relish. Quickly, Sam had to hide a grin of satisfaction. Even if Dean didn't enjoy his gift, at least he would enjoy his supper.

(Dean's POV) The two burgers for supper had been a pleasant surprise. Dean was halfway through the second one before he realized the fact that his health-freak of a brother had allowed two hamburgers was the fact that his birthday was tomorrow. He had considered refusing to eat the rest of the second one, but if Sam wanted to give him extra food who was he to complain?

He polished off the second one just fifteen minutes after Sam had gotten back, almost a record. Sam was still working on his sad chicken sandwich. Dean stood up from the table and threw away the burger wrappers. Then, he made his way to the door.

Sam was instantly standing up, his sandwich hanging loosely from one hand. "Where are you going?" he asked, words muffled from the food that he had yet to finish chewing.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Dude, that's just gross. And relax, I'm just going out to the car."

Sam's eyes narrowed in what could have been suspicion or something else. "Why?"

He was taken aback by that. Sam sounded like he thought his older brother was off to rob a store or leave him. In fact, he kind of sounded like John in the first few months after Sam left for Stanford and Dean would go somewhere in the Impala by himself. "Geez, what's with the third degree? I forgot to bring in the guns."

"Why do you need the guns? We aren't on a hunt."

Sam had officially pissed him off. "Because if I have to sit around in this freaking room for one more second watching crappy TV and watching you eat your stupid sandwich I'm going to go out of my damn mind! So I'm gonna go get the guns and clean them. Alright?" Dean didn't wait to hear his brother's response before he slammed out of the room into the bitter night.

(Sam's POV) He sat back on the bed with a heavy sigh. It hadn't been his intention to annoy his brother but seeing him going out to the car had momentarily brought forth panic that the gift wasn't hidden well enough, he'd see it early, and he'd hate it. No matter how old he got or how much he denied it, Sam still saw his brother as his hero and craved his approval. Even while he was at Stanford and he'd get a good grade on a test or paper, a small part of him still wanted to run it up to his brother and have Dean hug him, tell him he'd done good, and hang up the paper on the fridge if they had one. Those feelings hadn't lessened any since rejoining is brother, if fact, they'd only increased. Sam's thoughts didn't go any further before the door swung back open and Dean walked back in. He walked over to his bed and placed the weapon bag on the comforter, opened it, and pulled out the first gun before carefully beginning to disassemble it. Sam drew in a breath, wanting to apologize for irritating his older brother unintentionally. However, before he could, Dean shot him a dark glower that quickly snapped his mouth back together.

Sam sighed. He stood up, threw away his bag, and carefully snagged the remote from the nightstand in between the two beds. Since Dean was apparently determined to brood the rest of the night, Sam thought he could at least fill the silence with some mindless TV. Hopefully this wasn't a precursor for what tomorrow would bring. Regardless, it was going to be a long night.

AN: Thank you if you are still reading this story! I appreciate those that followed or favorited after the last chapter. I'm not really sure if I should continue this story if people aren't liking it…If you are still liking it please let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thanks to everyone who favorited, followed, or left a kind review on the last chapter! This is the last chapter of this story, and it's longer than the rest. I hope I don't disappoint everyone with the gift choice!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.

 **Birthday Blues**

(Sam's POV) Morning came and Dean showed no signs of being in a better mood. It wasn't necessarily unlike Dean to not have shaken it off by the next day, but this time of year never failed to put him in a sour mood. However, that didn't affect the brothers' ability to work in tandem. With an efficiency honed over years of practice, the two had their room picked up, had checked out, and were once again on the road just half an hour after they woke up.

The silence hung heavily in the old Chevy. Usually, even if he was annoyed, Dean would have music playing. It was easy for Sam to tell Dean's mood by simply listening to the volume the music was played at. However, no music at all was about the time that he really started getting worried. Sam knew better than to try talking to his brother at this point. So, for the next fifty miles, silence reigned.

Sam was just starting to doze off, his head settling against the window, when Dean slammed on the breaks. His head slid off the window, and he barely had time to stop himself from cracking it against the dashboard. The Impala's wheels squealed and Sam sent up a silent prayer of thanks that whatever had caused Dean to stop so abruptly had at least happened on a patch of dry pavement and not a place covered in ice. He could hear Dean ripping off some colorful curse words, his brother's shoulders hunched over the steering wheel.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam asked, and then winced. The first words he had spoken to his brother on his birthday came off sounding a lot like an accusation. Just another nail in his coffin he guessed.

"Some freaking idiot just turned in front of me!" Dean raged.

"Did he hit us?"

Dean took a few seconds to reply. It appeared to Sam that his brother was replaying what had happened in his mind, trying to identify if he had ever felt the other car run into his baby. "No," he said, sounding no less angry. "I don't think so."

Sam nodded and fell silent again. He looked down into his lap, wanting desperately to avoid his brother's angry gaze, even if it wasn't directed at him right now. That look had always made him feel so small.

While in the middle of an intense study of the fabric of his jeans, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Sitting next to the gas pedal, next to Dean's feet, was the gift. Knowing there was no way he could get at the gift without alerting Dean, Sam could only pray it would slide back under the seat before Dean noticed. Sam did intend to give it to Dean, but he didn't want to do while his brother was so upset. He just wanted one thing to go right for Dean's birthday, especially since the day hadn't been exactly great so far.

Unfortunately, luck was cruel and seemed to enjoy punishing the Winchesters especially. Dean put his hand down to put the car back into drive after parking when they had stopped. His eyes followed his hand, and then continued on. Sam knew the exact moment Dean had seen the bag. Dean's head tilted slightly, the way it did when he was perplexed. He reached down and picked up the small paper sack.

"What's this?" he asked, holding it up to Sam.

"Uh," Sam's hand came up run through his hair nervously. "Just something I picked up in town yesterday."

Dean's face lit up with genuine glee for the first time that day. Apparently the opportunity to mock his younger brother had pulled him out of his funk. "What'd ya buy, Sammy?"

"Nothing," Sam muttered and made a grab for the bag, however, Dean's quick reflexes had him grasping at air.

"Ah, come on, Sammy," Dean was full on grinning now. "What'd you buy in that dinky little town?"

"It's none of your business," Sam could feel his face getting red.

Dean made a wide gesture with his arms. "My car, my business." He went to open the bag and Sam felt panic rising in his chest. Once again, he reached for the bag and, this time, managed to snag it.

"Hey!" Dean protested.

"I said it wasn't any of your business," Sam responded.

Dean stared at Sam for a long moment before putting the car into drive. They drove about ten minutes in silence once again, and Sam was afraid he'd driven the good mood from his brother. He was wrong.

"It's a hair-tie for your girly hair, isn't it?"

"What?" Sam was startled.

"Yeah," Dean looked over at him. "You finally realized that that stupid hair was gonna get in the way of a hunt, so you're tying it back."

"No, it's not a hair-tie, okay?"

Dean scoffed. "Okay." The disbelief was impossible to miss.

Sam smiled. "You're such a jerk."

"Bitch," Dean answered without hesitation. He looked over at Sam and grinned his devil-may-care grin, then turned on the radio and cranked it up.

Sam relaxed. The day had started rough, but maybe it could be salvaged after all.

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(Dean's POV)

They had made it to the town of their hunt without any other mishaps. He had thoroughly enjoyed pushing Sam's buttons by guessing what was in the package. However, even though Sam had taken the ribbing in practiced stride, he had refused to reveal the contents of the mysterious package.

The brothers had decided to go their separate ways after checking in at the motel. Sam had taken researching at the library to confirm their suspicions and he had taken interviewing mourning family members, one of his most hated jobs. He had wanted to scout the woods, but Sam remained stubborn that no one should be going into those woods alone and apparently Dean was part of that no one.

Dean got back into the Impala after interviewing the family of the most recent victim, the last one on his list. The visit was frustratingly unhelpful. He had learned that their 18-year-old son had gone camping in the woods two weeks ago, it was supposed to be a three day trip. The boy's family was still hopeful that their son could be found, and Dean ached for them. Having hunted more than one wendigo, he knew that the boy was most likely nothing more than wendigo food strung up in some forgotten cave.

He leaned forward and rested his head against the Impala's steering wheel. Since Sam wasn't with him, he could allow himself a moment of weakness. There was a reason interviewing was his least favorite part of his job, and it wasn't his lack of people skills as Sam thought. Forcing people to talk about ones they had lost ripped him up inside. And even worse than that, at least this time, was the daughter. Dean looked in her eyes and saw it. She knew her brother wasn't coming back, didn't have the same hope as the rest of the family. Looking at her, seeing the despair and hopelessness, it was like looking into a mirror.

A sigh escaped his lips. He wished that Sam would have let him scout the woods. He needed to work up a sweat, feel the blood pumping fiercely through his veins, and let himself forget about the pain that surrounded this time of year. However, his younger brother had been insistent and now his skin felt as though it was too tight, his shoulders hunched in despair.

He reached down and turned the key in the ignition. The car pulled away from the curb, and he pointed it in the direction of the library. Hopefully Sam would have confirmed that it was a wendigo and they could hunt it down today. He cautioned himself to drive slowly, however, giving himself time to shake off the darkness that had shrouded his soul before Sam saw him.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

(Sam's POV)

After an hour and a half, Sam was certain it was a wendigo that was terrorizing the woods. Now, he was sitting on the bench outside, waiting for Dean to pick him up. The rest of the drive had gone smoothly, Dean's mood improving after the discovery of the package. It had almost as if Dean had forgotten that this was the day of the year that he was allowed to brood. Not that Sam wanted his older brother to spend his birthday in melancholy, but he wouldn't blame him.

Sam's head came up when the rumble of the Impala echoed down the street. He internally heaved a sigh of relief. A small part of him had expected Dean to take off for the woods anyways and try to hunt the wendigo by himself. Though it wasn't what one could call a traditional gift, Sam hoped that the fact they could hunt the wendigo tonight would lighten Dean's spirits.

He pushed himself to stand as the Impala slowed to a halt outside the library. The door hinges creaked as he pulled the door open and got inside. Dean pulled away once the door was shut again. "So, it's definitely a wendigo," Sam said, breaking the silence.

"Told you," Dean muttered, appearing to be brooding more than the last time Sam had seen him. He glanced down at his watch. "We have enough time to go back to the motel and grab some stuff before heading back out to the woods."

Sam nodded in agreement. Hunting anything in the daytime was risky because they were more likely to be discovered by other people. However, a wendigo was already dangerous to hunt when the sun was highest, hunting them in the dark was virtually suicidal. Also, the nights were much colder in the winter. All around, the hunt would be less risky in the daylight. But knowing their luck, this hunt could take several bad turns. As they rolled up to the motel, Sam did something that he knew Dean would mock if he knew that he was doing it. He prayed to God that the hunt wouldn't end deadly.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

(Dean POV)

"Easy," he hissed at Sam. The wendigo hunt had gone off _almost_ without a hitch. The snow had been cold, the wendigo fast, and the wind whipping so fast it had extinguished almost every fire they'd lit to kill the wendigo but the bottom line was the wendigo was dead. True, right before Sam had delivered the gunshot that had propelled it into the fire to kill it, the wendigo had managed to snag its claws into Dean's arm and left three jagged gashes from his elbow to his wrist. They were fairly deep but not hospital worthy, so now Sam was stitching him up in their motel room. And none too gently either.

"Hey!" Dean snapped as Sam tugged a little too hard for the sixth time. "Work on your bedside manner there, would you?"

"Sorry," Sam muttered. Dean was starting to get concerned. Sam hadn't looked at him since they'd gotten back to the room and he had ordered Dean to shower. Even through the entire time Sam had stitched the first two gashes, he hadn't made eye contact once.

"There," Sam said as he finished the last one, "all done."

"Thanks," Dean replied, hoping it would get his brother's attention. Even though he knew it was wrong, he usually didn't thank for Sam for patching him up, at least not seriously. It was just difficult knowing he had to rely on someone else. However, Sam didn't look at him. Instead, he walked over to his duffle and started riffling through it. Holding back a sigh, Dean laid down on his bed. He knew that he usually tended to brood through his birthday, but that didn't give Sam the right.

He looked up when he heard Sam clearing his throat above his bed. Sam was standing to the side with both hands tucked behind his back. "You should really cover that up," he said while motioning to Dean's bandaged arm. Sensing that that probably wasn't what Sam wanted to say to him, Dean remained quiet.

Sam sighed. He pulled one arm from behind his back and ran his hand roughly through his hair. "I- uh- I got this for you." The other arm was quickly brought around front, and in clasped in his hand was the small brown bag that he'd seen earlier in the day. "Sorry it isn't wrapped," Sam muttered.

Dean slowly sat up. His heart was pounding in his chest. He knew it was dumb to be excited, but this would have been the first gift he had gotten since before he was a teenager. Carefully, he reached up to take the bag from his brother, handling it as if it was made of glass. He reached into the bag, closed his hand around the hard rectangle, and drew it out of the bag. When he saw it, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

"The Beatles'?"

"Just, go play it," Sam said.

Without a word, Dean got up. He was still confused, but he trusted Sam. Snagging the keys off the table, he walked outside to the car.

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(Sam's POV)

He stood watching Dean from the window. The hunt had gone fairly smoothly, but he was still reliving the fear of seeing the blood dripping down Dean's arm. He had forgotten how hard it was to see his big brother get hurt and be reminded of how human he was.

Sam had seen the confusion on his brother's face when he had seen the gift. They'd both grown up on lullabies of rock. The Beatles weren't exactly on Dean's list of things to listen to. Ever. But all the same, Sam knew he had made the correct decision.

Dean was sitting in the Impala, just putting the cassette into the player. Sam knew the exact moment that Dean understood the gift. His brother's face softened. A small smile graced his face, and though Dean would deny it happening until the day he died, a tiny tear slid down his cheek. Dean's head fell back to rest against the seat as he let the music flow over him.

Sam smiled. He knew that in the cold winter months where the memory of losing Mary was the hardest to deal with, the soft tones of "Hey Jude" was just what Dean needed to hear.

AN: So? What did you guys think? Was the gift good or should it have been something else? Please let me know!


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